Medical Care
by Srebrna
Summary: An Elizabeth an a William got stuck somewhere in the mountains, and the baby is coming. The only midwife in the village is crazy, the other medic is a weirdo, and that's only a beginning of their problems...


_A/N A story that is totally disconnected from all other ones, a multi-crossover. At the moment it is not finished and I'm not sure I'm going to finish it anytime soon, I'm afraid. It's 11 chapters for now (short ones)._

_Let me know if you like it at all - maybe I'll manage to create some additions ;)_

_2012-06-17: Redoing this all into one big chapter. I had it split on my drive, but looks terrible here. Sorry to everyone who had to click through before. Hope it's more comfortable to read now.  
_

The mountains were awful. The weather was terrible. He hated snow, he hated wind and he hated this stupid little town with some stupid name he couldn't even remember. He had to breathe. In, out, in, out. Getting angry will not help Elizabeth. The midwife. They said she lived in the middle of the town in a big, fancy house. So here he was, in the middle of the town, but the most fancy thing he could see was a snowflake on his own eyelash. He stomped to get some feeling back into his toes and started to circle the marketplace.

Finally, after passing by several town offices and smaller houses, he came across something that the locals could probably call "fancy". He knocked on the door...

...and was now seated on a big, overstuffed chair, with a mad-looking cat salivating at him from the top of the table, and the old biddy of a midwife wrapping herself in layers and layers of shawls and coats. Finally, as she fastened a fur cloak on her shoulders, he stood up with a sigh of relief.

"One more thing, young man." She turned back to the mantlepiece and took a little, delicately-carved eggtimer. "One never know when some time may be useful."

He looked at her with bewildered eyes.

"Are you sure you are up to the task?"

"I'm the best one around here" she smiled, looking as if a winter apple smiled. "Actually, I'm the only midwife around here."

He swallowed. Elizabeth was in trouble. Big trouble.

"Oh, so maybe you want a second opinion?"

"But you said..."

"I'm the only _midwife_. We have this doctor, or so he calls himself. A _medic_, he says. Noone wants to deal with him, but in time, they will get used to it. He is not from around here, you see."

She pulled on her boots with visible effort and motioned for one of the young women to tie her shoelaces.

"Daughters in law" she smiled. "Good for such things."

He followed her outside.

"So, lad, do you want the second opinion? You would feel better with a man doing... this?"

"If you think he may be useful... I can cover all his costs."

"I'm sure a good dinner in the inn will be enough for him. So, we go. But not be worried and not be surprised. He isn't as many others. He is a bit out of his place" _'And time'_ she added mentally.

He sure was. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a tolerant, open and curious man. He had seen a black man before, but a black medic, and a bit crazy one himself was way too much for him.

"I don't bite, I don't kick, I'm civilized." the strange man was apparently used to such stares. "If you have someone ill at home, I can go with you and try to help. I don't promise it will work. These primitive conditions..." he stopped.

Fitzwilliam Darcy could certainly sympathise. Primitive they were, to be sure.

"Actually, it's not an illness in itself. My wife has gone into labor an hour ago and I just found a midwife, and she was so gracious to show me your abode. Would you accompany us and try to help? It's our first child and Elizabeth is absolutely terrified..."

"As are you, yes, I see that. I will go with you - I have nothing better to do today, after all. Nobody comes here."

As they fought against wind, trying to reach the inn where the Darcys were lodged, Stephen - because the black medic gave only his name - asked him quite a lot of questions regarding the pregnancy, the dates, even going into such intimate details that Fitzwilliam felt rather ill at ease.

"I'm sure my wife, or her maid, may answer you more specifically."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, I'll ask her, if she is still in a somewhat communicative mood."

The walked back to the inn, old woman chattering merrily, producing large amounts of smoke from her pipe and making saucy remarks, which reminded him of his mother-in-law (and this was not a good thought, as he could only begin to imagine the dressing-down he would receive as soon as the woman understands she had missed the birth of her first grandchild). He fixed his overcoat and held it closer, observing his other companion quietly. The black man was wearing a weird, tight-fitting outfit that couldn't be doing much to keep him warm.

"Aren't you cold... doctor?" he asked finally.

"What? No, not at all" white smile in the dark face. "My uniform is prepared especially for harsh weather."

"This is... a uniform? Are you an army doctor?" he asked incredously.

"In a way" the medic sighed. "I shouldn't tell you too much, sorry. I don't want to seem rude..."

"My cousin is a military man. I understand the need for secrecy. But... an uniform like this? Most soldiers I know would not look at it twice."

"Oh, I get it. You mean a dress uniform? Colours, shiny metal plates, medals and distinctions? This one is for everyday use."

"Our soldiers use civilian clothing off-duty."

"So do we. But one can be on duty and not on official business. Or any dress-uniform kind of business. And this one is more practical. More freedom of movement, easier to get rid of stains - and I tell you, as a doctor, I'm practically covered with various kinds of dirt after a day of work - does not stand out too much. And is much lighter than my dress uniform. Easier to pack, too."

"I see."

They walked in silence, when he dared to venture a question.

"Do you... do you have any experience with..." he was lost for words.

"Midwifery? Some. My instructors made sure I could cover for any kind of specialist in case of... if I was the only medic present."

"But this is not an area- what I would expect- as an army doctor?"

"I'm sure even your military units have some women. No?"

He choked. What?

"I mean, officers wifes and so. They do travel with their husbands, don't they?"

"Yes, usually. Although I suspect that any colonel's wife who finds herself expecting settles down in a safe place - like her or his parent's house - for the time needed..."

"Unlike gen-um wifes who travel the country in winter" interjected the midwife. "Now very wise, mind you. She should be sittin' in her own home, fireplace and all, with servants to fetch the midwife, and not you by yourself."

"We expected this to be next month." he murmured through clenched teeth.

"So either you can't count to thirty or we should hurry up, because the little one is early" she picked up a brisker pace. "As you look e-doo-cay-ted, I think the little one is the problem. Would you walk a little faster, you two?"

As they finally arrived at the inn, the innkeeper looked at them with fearful eyes.

"Your wife, sir..."

"What of her?" the gentelman barked sharply. Then he breathed deeply and closed his eyes. "What of her?" he repeated in a calmer voice, laced with the tiniest bit of respect and courtesy.

"She... She sent one of the maids to search for a doctor. She screamed and repeated that... I probably shouldn't..."

"Say it, man" he sighed.

"She screamed that she is not going to wait for you to pull the stick out of your... and get to talk to the midwife. And that you can go to hell as this is all your fault. I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't you worry, boy" the old midwife patted his shoulder, unwrapping herself from the many layers of woolen scarfs. "They scream all kinds of things, want to go to a convent, want you to go to one, want their mum or want to die. It's pain talking. After a while they forget and you are their own darling husband again, no worries. Now, take me... us to her" she patted his arm again, smiling.

He straightened his back, nodded and led them to the only suite of rooms the inn possessed - and he paid dearly for it as soon as they had became snowed in in this backwater, God-forsaken place. On entering the miniature parlour they found it surprisingly occupied by three people of rather unusual appearance.

Young woman in a dark dress was not so unsettling - even though her hair was not done up as the propriety demanded - as her neighbour. Pretty blonde in her mid-twenties, dressed in light blue trousers and shamelessly small blouse - or vest - with all the signs of advanced pregnancy blatantly displayed. This being her extended belly over the hem of her trousers. Their third companion was male, dressed in sober brown suit of a rather outlandish cut, emphasising his slight, wiry built. All three were watching the left bedroom door with concern.

"Who are you?" he asked wearily. "And what are you doing in this parlour?"

"Parlour!" exclaimed softly the man. "That's the word I've been looking for. Thank you, sir" he bowed, rising slightly. "As to what we are doing here - we are waiting for our friend to finish examining your pretty wife, as we were quite concerned for her health."

One man. Two women. That means...

"She is in there alone with a strange man?" he uttered.

"Do you think we are stupid and left your wife with a man? In a state she is in?" the girl in the dress spat. "Martha is in there and is taking good care of your wife which you have left alone, to go for a stroll. Coming back finally, are you? Well, I wouldn't be so sure that she ever lets you near her again."

"For your information, miss, I have been sent by her, to fetch a midwife. Which I have done. Your 'Martha' - is she a midwife?"

"No" answered the blonde. "She's a doctor."

For some reason all three of them smiled widely.

"She travels with us and oversees my pregnancy." she added seriously. "I'm quite sure that she will have more problems with me than she could ever have with your wife."

He sat stiffly and the midwife followed suit. The black doctor positioned himself beside the window and took off his jacket, uncovering stark white, high collared shirt with some markings on the shoulders.

"Oh, you are military!" exclaimed the blonde in a voice which eerily reminded him of his sisters-in-law. "What unit? What army?"

"Navy..." the medic caught himself. "I cannot tell."

"Oh, come oon..." mock-whined the second girl. "We can see you're not from around here, you can see we are neither. Spill."

"He should not hear" the medic indicated their host. "And I don't think I should bend our rules even in these conditions."

"It's good you have rules, but from what I managed to see, we already have an information leak. Or will have if we explain to this good sir what is happening with his wife and heir. And we should, if this whole situation is to be solved" the man in the suit rose and strode towards the left door. "Martha, dear? Everything going well?"

Someone answered in a muffled voice.

"If I send Donna inside, would it be any help? There is the local midwife here, too, maybe she could help?"

The door opened a bit.

"The midwife? Come in, the mother here needs some support. Talk to her. I'm afraid she is a bit overwhelmed."

As the elderly lady entered the room, the 'Martha, dear' exited it, stripping some weird, elastic gloves from her hands and shaking her black hair out.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was a tolerant, open and curious man, but a black female medic did it for him.

"Now, you all sit down and I want some answers. Who are you people? Why are you all sitting here and what... What was she doing to my wife?" he uttered slowly, almost coldly. He was on the verge of nervous collapse, but he had to keep his wits about him if his wife was to deliver safely. Even if it meant cooperating with this... motley crew.

"I was checking the progress of the birth" she answered simply. "As it begun prematurely - I would say, three weeks early - I was anxious as to the rapidity of the process. But everything seems to be going smoothly, or as smoothly as the situation of giving birth allows. There was one problem on the way, but it was solved as soon as it was diagnosed."

"A problem?" he repeated quietly.

"It seems..." the man in suit begun, but stopped suddenly and walked towards the fireplace. "It seems, from our observations, that someone was attempting to hurt your wife and child. More than once. Wait!" he prevented Mr Darcy from rising. "It has been treated. Fixed. It has been..."

"Healed" finished the blonde.

"Yes, thank you. It has been healed. There are ways... There are ways in which a child is positioned in the mother's body. The most common is with the head down, or forwards. Stay, wait. I know, it is not something you would like to learn, being a gentleman of means and all, but you must. If you want to know what happened. Please, sit down. Yes. So, the child is facing down, everything goes well, the delivery happens, the child is whole and sound. This is the ideal scenario. The less-than-ideal, but still bearable, is with his - or hers - seat down. It is harder on the mother, and really hard for the first-time mothers. But, still, doable" here he paused and touched the blonde's shoulder. "I... we did some research on this subject lately, you see. Now, there is also an option which is, at this point of time, not good. To tell the truth, in most, cases, fatal. If the child is lying on the back. And this was the situation here. It was. It isn't anymore." He breathed deeply and caressed the girl's arm again. "As soon as we were... as we arrived, Rose here almost forced us to seek shelter in this inn. As we heard about an expecting mother enduring much pain and on the probable brink of delivery, we offered her any help we could render. Rose made sure your wife understood that we are conscious of the delicacy of the situation, as she is herself in the same state, I, on the other hand, could not be so comforting. As we entered the parlour here and your wife... As I saw her..." he paused to breathe. "I could see something is not... occurring as it should. As a doctor" here all three girls smiled - yet again "I could only asses that either there was a natural problem with delivery or that an artificial obstacle had been introduced by someone from outside. Martha has some experience with such matters and she confirmed that the situation had been arranged by someone. Did you ever notice that you have became snowed in here, miles from any larger town, with one elderly midwife to assist you - if you manage to find her - and in a situation where the help of one village midwife would certainly not be enough?"

Mr Darcy nodded with grim face.

"This is what awakened our suspicions. And I have to tell you, this is one fine mess we found ourselves in. Because, I need to ask, what is the year now?"

"1814" said Fitzwilliam Darcy immediately.

"Donna? Martha?"

"2010" they both answered.

"Rose?"

"2012. Or 2010, yes."

"Stephen?"

The black medic swallowed.

"It is 2275."

"And... excuse me" he opened the door a crack. "What is your name, madame?"

"You may call me Nanny. Now, lie on your side, that's a good girl..."

"So, Nanny. What is the year now?"

"Why, the Year of the Swallowing Horse, of course" she smiled at him and... winked?

"So, you see, Mr Darcy. We cannot agree on what year it is, and most certainly, we are all quite normal. Mostly normal. Let's check if we can agree on the place, what say you?"

After proving to the expectant father that they were indeed in an undefined place - but probably in the Ramtop mountains somewhere, probably near Lancre, as the only local person - the midwife - was most stubborn about this - they moved to the explanations.

"For some reason, someone interfered with your child's safety. It has been turned in your wife's body so that it was lying in the most unfortunate position. And the delivery has been forced, just so that you knew, by the same person. We still don't know who, why and how, but it has been reversed. Now the birth should progress in the normal way and in the span of - I'd say - ten hours tops you should have your heir."

"What would they - whoever it was - achieve by this?"

The younger man pursed his lips.

"Your child would not survive. You wife neither. If, by any chance, she managed to live, she would never be able to carry to term again and even an attempt - conceiving and... well, anything in this area could be lethal to her. In short, someone wanted to ensure that you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, would be unable to produce your legal heir with your wife, Elizabeth."

"Who could have had the means? What would have been needed?"

"I would say that it would necessitate the use of at least the same kind instruments we have at our disposal, if not more advanced. It would call for imagination, trickery and rather high level of animosity towards both of you. In short, it would mean an enemy with access to technology at least two hundred years ahead of your point in time."

"But you have such technology."

"Ah, yes. And my friends here gave you the year they feel is now. So you see, we actually are from this point of time. I'd say, it would call for one of my kind, with the same knowledge, to start this process. As I am the last of my kind, or rather, last but one" his hand again caressed the blonde's shoulder. "I would bet that it was someone even further on. 2080, this is the year they make some breakthroughs."

"Or a Time Agent" added Donna.

"Yes, or a Time Agent, which would make our lives even more interesting. Well, now I have told you everything I know. Ah, not everything. You see, we travel in time. But in a way, we are drawn to certain... problems in the history when other time-travelling entities try to make trouble. Our... our means of transport has a kind of sensor which is set to catch any kind of time-altering activity. If we follow the signal, we became locked into the stream of events. As we have gathered here people from at least three different times, not counting you and your wife, of course, it means that the birth - or death - of your child would influence greatly some part of the universe. And we were drawn here to rectify the situation and help your heir to be born. Now, do you wish to see your wife? Martha, could you check if madame Nanny has done everything she could for Mrs Darcy?"

They sat in the parlour, looking at the fire, as Martha emerged from the birthing room with a worried face. She whispered something into the blonde's ear and her friend replaced her immediately beside Elizabeth's bed.

"Sir? Mr Darcy?" Martha lowered herself to the seat next to him.

"Yes, madame?"

"Your wife is asking for you. I must warn you, she is very weak. Terribly. It... This process of turning the child, both ways, had taken its toll on her. She is half-conscious. If you could go there and... support her somehow, I'd try to find a way to provide her with more strength. She does not keep her food down and I don't think giving her any more injections would not be more harmful than helpful."

"I'll go. Thank you."

She looked at his retreating back and shook her head in wonder.

"Excuse me, miss..."

"Doctor Jones, if you don't mind."

"Certainly. I could not help overhearing your conversation here and I would like to offer my help" at her curious stare he shrugged. "Your... your friend here stated you were drawn here for a purpose, yes? So maybe I have my purpose here, too."

"And this would be?"

His smile glimmered.

"This would be the most treasured medical secret of Earth Alliance" he reached into his duffle and pulled out a weird, wired contraption.

"And it is?"

"A life energy transmitter and transformator. With additional safeguards to keep the donor alive."

"You mean... you could lend her some of your lifeforce?"

"Give. As we have checked, no way to give it back, at least not immediately" he seemed pensive. "But there are four of us in good health - I wouldn't recommend using it on your pregnant friend there - and we could support Mrs Darcy in turns."

"You sure it works?" she licked her lips unconsciously. "This may be a breakthrough..."

"Yes, it works. And no, I can't give it to you. I have no idea why I'm stuck here, maybe I'm waiting for something else to happen, so I can't lose this" he patted the side of the contraption. "Also, it should stay in my timeline."

Suited man looked at him appreciatively.

"I like a time traveller who knows his paradoxes."

Stephen regarded him for a moment calmly and then turned to his newly-found colleague.

"So, what say you?"

"I say aye" she smiled crookedly. "Not that I have any alternative method of helping her."

The old midwife entered the parlour and sent Martha a scathing look.

"You gave her sumit for pain, didn't you? Stupid girls. They think a mother can't stand the pain by herself and look what good it did - the lassie may now bleed herself to death before the lil'one appears. Fat lots of good, I say. I know, I know. She was scared, you were scared..."

"I was not scared, madame" Martha answered curtly. "She was scared, in pain and her heart was going to fail if I didn't give her something. It was over twelve hours ago, it is certified not to prolong the labour and it was vital for her to get it. She would be dead by now otherwise. Now, Stephen. Can we proceed?"

As soon as Elizabeth was arranged to be covered enough for the propriety to be satisfied and Martha convinced her to stay calm, the machine was placed on the night table and her left arm was hooked to it.

"Now, Rose, you are not going to participate in this. We don't know what would be the reaction and frankly, I don't wish to have two labours on my hands - sorry for the bad pun - so stay on the other side and talk to Elizabeth. Stephen, I'll go as the first donor, as I think it would be wise to have you at the controls. Right?"

Martha sat down, next to the bed and put her hand into the energy rings.

"I'll set it for 10%. It was the setting we mainly used when experimenting with the machine. Sometimes we went as high as 75%, especially when the risk was high and time for recovery short. Now we want only to support the lady here and we don't know if it affects the child, so..."

The warm sensation running up and down her arm surprised Martha at first, but then she found them quite interesting. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was sitting rigid and scared as the light went on around her wrist and elbow.

"How did you come to be here?" she leaned back on a couch next to him.

"No idea. I just got off a heli from the London spaceport and voila, here I am."

"Why did you have this" she pointed to the alien machine "with you? Do you carry military secrets with you as a norm?"

He frowned.

"I was going to a medical conference - top secret, hush-hush, no outsiders. We were going to show this to the main medical minds of Earth. But as soon as I stepped off the heli, I didn't even manage to get my main bag out, and bzzt, here I am. In the middle of a busy town square in the middle of the winter, instead of nice, summer day on Cardiff Plass."

Martha blinked.

"Cardiff, you say? 2275? Was there a security escort of some kind?"

Stephen rubbed his eyes.

"Of course there was. After all, it was a secret military-medicine operation. There were some guys from local alien-detection service... one of them tried to hit on me" he added with a bit of bemusement. "Why?"

"Nothing... just, was he, like, pretty? Doll-like pretty?"

"Yeah. Tall, blue eyes, all militar-y. And all his men called him 'Captain'. You know him?"

She smiled, finally.

"Yup. Rose!" she called to the blonde. "Apparently Jack makes it to 2275 without change. It gives us what?"

"Donna is still in, I'm out. I bet on until 2248. You're still in, but remember about the conditions."

"Very well" she grinned to Stephen. "We placed bets on how long he is going to make like this."

Stephen blinked.

"What?"

"He's immortal. Well, not exactly. But nobody yet managed to kill him."

"How long...?"

"Since around middle nineteenth century, or something like this. Rose there went a bit overboard with saving his life and locked him in one state forever."

"Are you going to ever explain me how the hell she did that? And why is the man not in military, government or espionage?"

"He is in civil service. As you witnessed. Being in public would make him too visible and people would start to notice. Espionage is... also part of what he does."

"What does he do?"

"Guards the rift in time and space. Conveniently placed in Cardiff. You must have been hit by a spot of activity. I think chances are high you'll meet him as soon as Doctor sends you back. Tell him we say hi."

April 18th, 2275

"Martha says hi" Stephen watched the tall man from behing the bars. "Now, let me the hell out. I have a conference to attend."

"Nu-ugh" Jack Harkness smiled at him sweetly. "Not for two more days. You're landing up there in two days and three hours and you don't want anyone seeing you before, now do you?"

He blinked.

"That's what I thought. Now. Pizza, or Chinese?"

August 1897

Delia Darcy - she hated the alliteration, but could do absolutely nothing about it - was whining. Her farther had already given up and hid himself in his library, but her mother was made of much harder stuff. And she wasn't giving up. Delia was not going driving around Hyde Park with James Tyler, whatever she said.

Delia so was going to. James - Jimmy - had the most marvelous new open carriage, with his own improvements implemented in the springing of it and conveniently furnished with several additional comforts, like a small heating stove under the seat or special holder for gloves.

Jimmy Tyler was the sweetest, most absent-minded young man Delia has ever seen. She determined he needed some management in the area of dress - someone should tell him and his father that the XIX century was just finishing, not starting, and that full Regency evening clothes were not so fashionable anymore - and in punctuality. Otherwise, he managed quite well himself, including the question of money. His improvements, inventions and clever gadgets sold pretty well and he made quite a number of special commissions for nobles and wealthy of London, which brought him to the salons (although as more of a curiosity to be shown off than a honored guest). This way the second daughter of Laurent Darcy (of Pemberley) had met the young inventor on one of the social functions of her second Season. She immediately felt she could be the one to take care of this specimen of masculine handsomeness (he was most definitely easy on the eyes).

However, her parents weren't so happy about it. She even understood - their difference of birth, her dowry and his lack of base capital, his employment and lack of social life... BUT! He was so nice. And so gallant in explaining to her all the little complicated details of his inventions. Delia was well-versed in behaving as if she was overwhelmingly interested and completely understanding what was being shown to her, but here she didn't have to pretend. She actually understood all his explanations and his sheer enthusiasm for all things mechanical somehow infected her, too.

Now all she wanted was to sit in his wonderful, comfy carriage and drive a bit. Mother didn't have to know that this would be actually Delia driving, did she now?

Finally, her mother gave up, too. Delia had perfected her whining skills on her siblings - her mother had no chance.

The ride itself ended in Delia taking the reins and driving herself the nice carriage. Which included driving it into the pond, when the horses got spooked by something on the lane. Which itself led to some amount of indecent exposure, awkward embraces, public compromitation and forced marriage. None of the main participants of the ceremony had the slightest thought about putting up a resistance.

_Not_ Pegasus Galaxy

He felt lost. At one moment, he was pushing the gurney to the infirmary, next thing he felt was an explosion and now he was here, in a middle of a small town, which itself seemed to be in the middle of bloody nowhere.

He was standing there, in his scrubs, with a small cache of medical appliances still in his hands and pockets, and he was shivering.

Finally, after a few minutes, he gave up waiting for a divine intervention and strode in a random direction, hoping to find some shelter. He could always trade his tools or his services for food and heat.  
No sooner had he made this decision than he had a man, tall, well built man, barrel into him, running at full speed.

"I'm sorry, sir" he uttered "I have to catch someone... DOCTOR! Come back, DOCTOR!" he shouted, entering the main town square. "Oh, damnation. DOCTOR!"

" Lad, I'm a doctor. Maybe I can help you?"

The man turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Another one? Very well, please, follow me. My wife..." he inhaled deeply of the cold air and started coughing. "I'm sorry. My wife, she just gave birth. A doctor - a few of them - were assisting her. They said everything looked well, but now she's bleeding and the innkeeper's wife says it's not good. Can you help?"

He closed his eyes for a moment. This struck so close to home.

"I will. Lead on, lad."

The inn was warm and smelled of cooked cabbage. Somewhat homey. The innkeeper's wife was sitting next to a young, dark-haired lady, lying in the middle of a large bed.

Next to it, some quite out-of-place items were scattered on the table and a newborn was crying in a crib.

"Very well. Please, madam, go prepare a large pot of tea. Quickly. And a bowl of warm water. Me fingers went stiff from the cold and I don't want to hurt the poor lady anymore. Now, lass" he sat next to the bed and looked at her closely. "What happened to you?"

"I'll explain" the tall gentleman removed his greatcoat, uncovering a slightly rumpled and stained shirt under it. "After the last few hours, I'd rather get to the most important parts without additional ceremonies. My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy and we've been through a hell of an evening today..."  
He localized the spot that was bleeding, managed to fix the wound and stop the haemorrhaging. Fortunately, the elderly owner's wife was a keen observer and alerted young father quite early as to her suspicions. The mother didn't lose too much blood, as it would have been impossible to give her a transfusion there.

Now he was checking up the baby, listening at the same time to the Regency gentleman telling him an outlandish story of time travellers, aliens, strange medics - especially a female medic! - and weird happenings around the place.

"My lad, weird is in my job description. If you saw a female medic, you still haven't seen everything. The place where I came from, they have a human population that didn't come from Earth. I'm Earther, yes. But them, they were born of different ancestors. I'll tell you, lad" he patted the large man's shoulder. "Be happy to live in your times. Risky. Hungry. Wars, famines, bandits and slow transport. But you still get to think only about your house, your property or, at the most, about your country. Me and my colleagues, we have to think planet-wide. Or, sometimes, humanity-wide. Which, I tell you, is not the same thing. And we are tired of it."

He knew the man wouldn't tell. After all, nobody would have believed him, and if he insisted - well, Bedlam would have earned a new patient.

"Please, doctor. Take at least my jacket" Mr Darcy insisted, walking him to the door. "You must be cold in this..."

"Coat. Yes, thank you. I'll have a look, maybe someone is searching for me - somehow" he sighed. "I dearly hope so."

"I do, too. And again, thank you... you saved Elizabeth's life."

"All in a day's work."  
The town square was silent and empty. Except for a terribly out-of-place, blue telephone box. And a redhead standing in front of it, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Hurry up, will ya? We've been freezing our butts off here for some time already. Yes, now we know what happened, but you helped and we were really in a hurry, because Rose's gone into her labour and the kid should supposedly be born onboard. So come on in, we'll give you a lift. To whenever it is you should go."  
Atlantis team had never been more happy than on the day they found out that Carson Becket had indeed survived the explosion. The arrival and leaving of strange travellers went almost unnoticed, except for Ronon bowing deeply to the skinny, suited man and uttering some words of greeting in what he explained was the traditional central satedan language.

"What did you say?" Shepard joined him, as the blue box shifted in and out of reality, disappearing quickly.

"I welcome you and bow to you, o lonely traveller" Ronon said calmly. "That is what our elders taught us to say when we see him."

"See who? The guy with the hair?"

Ronon eyed him calmly.

"Last time he was seen in my area, he was older and dressed differently. Has no importance. It was him. I know it."

Shepard shook his head.

"You're crazy."

"Oh, yeah. But the Oncoming Storm is the craziness embodied. I'm honoured to meet him. Every Satedan would have been."

England, 1856

"Nonna..."

Elizabeth eyed Giovanna suspiciously.

"You're using that tone again, my child."

Her granddaughter's golden-brown eyes opened widely and innocently.

"And you're overdoing that look."

"But, Nonna..."

"Giovanna."

Twenty-year-old flopped limply on the setee, carefully keeping her shoes away from the daisy-printed pillows.

Giovanna Victoria Balistieri, the seventh grandchild of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy, made an attractive picture, despite her disheveled look and theatrically sad set of her lips.

"Giovanna!"

"But, Nonna! I want to marry him!"

Suddenly Elizabeth put down her book and regarded the girl carefully.

"Marry who, my dear? Neither Mary Anne nor your father mentioned anything to me."

"Because they didn't know" she sighed. "I told them only this morning."

Elizabeth pursed her lips.

"Are you... in trouble?"

"Nonna! I may be half-Italian, but I'm still half-British!"

Elizabeth sighed. Anytime Giovanna did something not-quite-in-line with what the general public would do, someone came back to the old 'it's all because of her Italian blood'. Not that these social accidents really happened that much more often than other girls could account for, but the general consensus was that if only Giovanna wouldn't have been half Italian (and what was her mother thinking!) she would have been a perfectly nice girl with good manners.

"Giovanna, I don't give two pences for your whining about this newest bout of conflict with your dear parents. Tell me everything in order."

Giovanna finally sat straight. Her shoulders pulled back, her fingers torturing a handkerchief in her lap and her eyes firmly on these fingers, she told her 'Nonna' about Samuel. Samuel Beckett, a Scot. Scottish merchant. Scottish wool and linen merchant of high standing. About meeting him at the modiste, where he was checking on the materials' delivery and she was checking on her dress's progress. About striking a conversation on the general topic of textile trade, her having a great-grand-uncle in the same trade and him being the third generation. About various following occasions, when he passed by her, bowing slightly, with his hat raised minutely and his smile, ooh, that smile...

"And he's a prefect gentleman. He wants to talk to Papa, but Papa said he does not want to talk to him. So it turns out that I have a suitor, who has declared himself and has settlement papers in hand and my father, who is supposedly a nobleman, does not even think about meeting him."


End file.
